


Navel Gazing

by TheWormThatTurns



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWormThatTurns/pseuds/TheWormThatTurns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic about Regina's night after the incident at the well. Takes place directly after the end of Season Two Episode Nine, "Queen of Hearts". Hints of SwanQueen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Navel Gazing

* * *

 

A single word could shatter the world. She trailed her hand along the fences high and low she passed. One stupid word and she found herself holding fragments of a life. The moment hit her over and over, like the scene of a film flickering through her mind.

  
He had called her and flung his arms out wide to catch her, the other woman. The 'real' mother.

  
It seared Regina in a way she thought lost to her. It hurt not because what happened had been wrong, but because it had been so right. Seeing Miss Swan and Henry together sparked a dim recognition in her. The true reason escaped articulation, darting like smoke through fingers. Wine would help. If it didn't, she could at least find a way to pass the night.

  
Across the street, her house loomed pale above the hedges. Home, sweet home. The Dark Palace of the old world would have looked more welcoming. None of the neighbors bothered opening their windows to hiss things tonight. Crossing the street came with nothing more than the sound of her shoes on the asphalt. She pushed the gate open, sailed onward, and heard it close. She removed her shoes halfway down the walk. Her feet spread thankfully on the cool stones.

  
She reached the door. The keys refused to work and fell from her hands. She threw her shoes on the porch. They hit with a satisfying sound. Nausea rose in her throat. Are you that incapable? Pick up the keys and do it correctly, Regina. You are not a child. Her face prickled with a familiar sting. She would not cry here, not in the open. Gods give me that much control. The key found the lock and turned.

  
The foyer yawned large and empty as the door swung wide. She flung her keys across the room. She locked the door behind her only to realize her shoes were still on the porch. What kind of example would she be setting for Henry if she left things lying about like that? Oh, Henry. She got as far as leaning on the door, fingers touching the lock. She did not turn it. Tears ran hot down her cheeks. The floor held her with the warmth of polished ice when she met it. The only echoes bouncing off the walls were hers.

  
* * *

  
The Chardonnay Eiswein gave the illusion of heat and nothing more. She sat on the den's couch, one leg hooked over the back and the other hanging a million miles away to the floor. Her cheeks burned with a blush she had not felt naturally for decades. The fire crackled and snapped in the hearth. The blaze was a magnificent, smokeless violet but Henry could forgive her that much magic. Or maybe his forgiveness was out of the picture. Did promises matter when those who asked for them left her behind? She poured herself another glass. The wine looked like liquid, swirling bronze in this light. It smelled of honey and apples. She tucked another pillow behind her back so she could drink without spilling.

  
They were probably 'enjoying' some weak yellow swill at Granny's instead of real alcohol. Miss Swan (Regina refused to think of her as sheriff) probably poured sodas down the boy's gullet. It would serve the White-Charming family right when he bounced off the walls in a caffeinated ball. She sighed. No, she mustn't think like that. Her child -- pain sliced through her chest at that -- the child did not need to suffer for the failings of others. They would take care of him.

  
She sat up. The Chardonnay threatened to leap onto the rug but she managed to spill not a drop. Her shaking hands delivered the glass to the table. Yes, that was what she feared, that they would take care of him. That had been writ plain on Miss Swan's face. After all, it had been love's True Kiss that had awoken this dismal town. Who would have thought a mother's concern for her child would be the undoing of Regina Mills?

  
Damn it, Regina had felt dread and affection for Henry too. Sometimes she had been distant, but she ruled best that way. It was easier to see things from afar. That still made it love. _Ah, but remember the void of the Dark Curse,_ a familiar voice whispered across time and worlds. Maleficent. _No matter how hard you dug, you could not fill that hole. You have stayed emptier than this house of yours, my queen._

  
"That isn't true," Regina said.

  
The inner voice gave no answer, no matter how hard she listened.

  
"That's a lie. A lie. I love him."

  
Her hands ached sharply. She uncurled her fists to find crescents marking the palms. Her fingernails had drawn blood in one or two spots. She licked the injuries away, tasting metal. She would not heal these. Pain could stay. Pain meant she lived. The ghosts of the past could fade to nothing. They were nothing more than the howling of wind, hollow and shrill.

  
She loved her son.

  
Then why had seeing him with Emma -- Miss Swan, let's not lower ourselves to such familiarity -- seemed so right? Regina struggled to find the answer in her wine several times over. The empty glass seemed to accuse her. She went to pour another and found the bottle disturbingly light. She could not have drunk so much in an hour or two, could she? She looked to the clock between the windows. The hands pointed at one and three. That explained many things.

  
She stumbled to the kitchen. A little water and aspirin would go a long way to helping the headache she had coming this afternoon. If she woke in the afternoon. She slammed down at least two glasses worth of water from the tap. It would keep her from sleeping without disruption but she did not look forward to a full hangover. She fumbled the aspirin bottle out of an odds and ends drawer. The tablets turned to bitterness between her teeth; she forced herself to taste it. Giving into sorrow had been foolish.

  
She headed for the stairs and paused at the foot of them. The magical fire still danced strongly in the den; its purple light cast greasy shadows through the doorway. It would not do to leave that burning. Anyone might see it if they managed to get in the house. She raised a hand to the ceiling, palm up. The light dimmed at first. It grew closer, pulsing bright and dark to the beat of her heart. The smokeless flames wavered in a contained sphere. She twitched her fingers and the orb traveled steadily ahead of her. Not breaking her neck on the risers was her goal for the moment. Henry would be hurt if he knew, but the very idea of turning on a light switch made her exhausted.

  
It pained her to admit that cold turkey was too difficult. Tapering her use bit by bit would be easier. She would allow herself small things, then tiny tasks, and finally nothing magical at all. Telling Henry or anyone else, including her sparkling paragon of a therapist, would be unnecessary. Imagining the impassioned admonition Dr. Hopper would attempt was enough to make a little wine hit the back of her tongue.

  
This had to be done on her own, without help or criticism. Self-made barriers were in place. She could and would meet those goals. Regina Mills always got what she wanted, no matter how long it took. Her face felt strangely plastic as she smiled, like the Cheshire cat that ate the swan. She snorted at that one. Why was she funniest when no one else was around?

  
* * *

  
Centuries of climbing passed as she made it to the landing. Praise to the gods (useless as they were), she was almost to bed. The orb turned into her room first. She waved it into oblivion. Darkness meant no chance of catching herself in the mirrors. Spending the rest of the quiet hours in hateful self-examination would be a waste of tears and time. If she didn't know what was wrong with her by now, she never would.

  
She undressed quickly, leaning against the side of the bed for balance. The sheets felt like winter. Her skin prickled at the cold. She forced her legs to uncurl. The first shivers passed as her body warmed the bed.

  
The others must have had a fine time at the diner. Not a single phone call. She turned on her side. Stop it. I will not give into this spiral again. Last time I did that, it ended in the demise of a delicious and all too expensive wine. My entire collection will be gone at this pace. A little thinking was in order. It was more useful than emptying bottles.

  
Here goes nothing, Regina. Make it quick. I have done things, not the best of things -- no, that was not right. _Be truthful, darling,_ another voice said inside. Its whisper sounded soft as rose petals. Thorns were at the end of it. _Lies never bring anything save heartache. And that ache will make you weak._ Mother. The old bat tormented her even in half-sleep. Hook should have killed the witch as she had asked.

  
Regina knew what she had done and had failed to do. No one living or dead needed to remind her of that, especially when those voices were the obnoxious echoes of her own mind. She flipped over to her left side. Sleep, damn you. You drank enough to put an ogre into a blackout.

  
She counted her breaths. Her body relaxed into the mattress. Yes, that was it. Go to sleep. Today has already started but you will snore through it. At least until some good citizen decides to pound on the front door in another bout of impotent rage.

  
 _They have good reason for their anger, my child,_ said the voice of Daddy. _You punished a world in your grief._

  
This time she sat up. The specters of Snow and Charming would be haunting her room next. Or worse, Emma. Miss Swan. Not Emma. Never Emma. Sharing her son with the sheriff was enough closeness for a lifetime. The very idea of calling that woman something so ... informal brought chills down Regina's back. Not in all the years to come would she do such a thing. Gods, the years she would have if she had Henry back. When she had Henry back, not if. No matter the timing of it, she would not have him to herself any longer. Those people would not allow it.

  
The visits with him would be brief and supervised, she imagined. In time, they might allow more. They could even invite her to dinner. Granny's would not suffice. Too many eyes and forms of cholesterol. Mary Margaret's -- Snow's -- abode would be painfully cramped, not to mention an eyesore. The menu would probably leave many things to be desired. Something like a picnic might be best, although that too was public. Maybe Regina could invite them here. She tossed tickling hair from her face. Yes, a dinner party might be best. She would give that dreadful family invitations when the time came, perhaps find a way to lure Archie into joining (although he would find some reason or another to initially protest it), and have it catered to dispel any fears about the lethality of her cooking. She would offer wine instead of apple cider.

  
It would be months, perhaps even years off, but she could stand a night of entertainment for her son's sake. Miss Swan might even allow Henry to stay the night.

  
Regina would do the generous thing and allow the woman to see him to bed. If Emma felt too strongly about it, the sheriff could always be welcome to stay as well. Extending the invitation to Emma in the first place might be smarter. It would give little reason to worry over Henry. They could both read him a story and tuck him in for the night. The house would be fuller and brighter with company. She could pretend Emma was a family member for the evening rather than an invader in her bed.

  
An invader in her house not her bed, she corrected herself. Bed? Why had she mixed bed into the equation? Gods, she _was_ drunk. Regina wanted no one in her bed let alone Emma 'Savior to Everyone' Swan. The thought made her warm from scalp to chest. Who knew where the woman had been? She knew where Miss Swan was not going to end up. No, having her stay the night in this house would be a disaster. Henry staying here alone would have to do.

  
Time to rest. This silliness had to end. If she stayed up much longer, she would be hearing Emma beside her. The heat spread through Regina's middle. Do not go down this road, dear. Think of sleep wonderful, deep, and dark.

  
She settled under the covers once more. As annoying as Emma was, there were worse people to share a bed with, she supposed. The sheriff would be downright preferable to someone like Dr. Whale, to name but one person. Stop thinking. Emma Swan is not attractive. Not to me. Others might find her appealing. There was a sort of prettiness to her eyes; that greenish hazel color shifted in different light. She strode with a certain bounce in her step. If Regina had been a man, she might have considered the woman not unpleasant to look at. Ha, if I had been a man I would not be in this predicament. Mother wouldn't have dared marry me to a king then. She stifled a laugh. If I were a man, Emma might be in my bed by now. The heat continued past Regina's navel. She held her breath. What was she thinking?

  
She wasn't thinking. The wine had gone to her head. She rolled onto the other side of the mattress. The coolness of the sheets and pillow soothed her strange warmth. It might be a fever. There was a familiarity to it. The illness had struck her before, long ago. Her mouth tingled the same way when she had first seen Daniel. Nonsense, Regina. You have never felt attraction to another woman and this is the wine giving you hallucinations. Sleep will cure you.

  
She dared not look at the clock. It seemed to take years but tiredness crept over her. Yesterday's pain flashed through her mind again. Henry called out to Emma as his mother on repeat. The two of them had looked like family. A thought clicked into place. They had looked right together because they were family. Regina's family.

  
Horror climbed across her flesh. She had not just wanted Henry in her home but Emma as well. Wakefulness slammed her. She wanted Emma Swan. No, it couldn't be true. Such an idea was preposterous. She hated Emma. There had certainly been emotions between them but it was anger and resentment. Well, not entirely. Some appreciation had been there as well; Emma obviously cared for Henry and had the decency to return him to Storybrooke.

  
That isn't all, Regina. Think. Emma's arrival had woken something in her, just as the town had woken. Nothing more than the delight of a challenge. But this ache in her chest had not reappeared until the woman appeared. That too was simple: Henry had sought out his birth mother and eschewed Regina.

  
You wanted to invite her home. _Yes, for a dinner party._ And to bed. _No, to_ a _bed, not my bed._ Then why imagine her in it? No answer appeared for that.

  
The sun came but sleep did not.

 

* * *

\- Fini -

**Author's Note:**

> The formatting on this went sideways back when it was posted and I wouldn't have noticed it if not for the kindness of a commenter. Thanks, Robin4!


End file.
